Mr. Muscles

My husband, Peter, is learning Spanish his own way. 

I do Duolingo online. It is free. It is easy to do. The whole thing is designed like a game, and dancing animated creatures hop up and down and celebrate every time I get five answers in a row correct. This shouldn’t matter to me – yet, I find it deeply satisfying. Peter doesn’t do any of this. 

Peter learns Spanish by talking with the sandwich shop staff. 

Since we started staying in our little apartment in Mexico, Jorge, the resourceful owner, has converted what used to be a storage room into a sandwich shop. The sandwich shop is not large. There is a grill and a counter with a few stools, and that is it. But they make everything from scratch and it is very good. Peter takes his long morning hike and stops by the sandwich shop, just inside the hotel, on his way back. He orders lunch. 

Ten minutes later, either Eduardo or Miriam, the employees of the sandwich shop, knock on the door. Sometimes, Miriam is accompanied by her small son, Santiago. Peter’s lunch arrives on a plate and he pays for it, along with a generous tip. There is usually enough for two lunches, so he puts the leftovers in the refrigerator, and he’s all set for the next day. 

The full article is available in our e-Edition. Click here to subscribe.